SERMON Fuzzy Dice

Easter 7(B)(09): Acts 1:15-17, 21-26; Psalm 1; 1 John 5:9-13; John 17:6-19

You may have wondered about the fuzzy dice on today's bulletin cover. You need to know that this Sunday and fuzzy dice are forever linked for me,

Twelve years ago on this Sunday, I was five months into a two-year, part time internship in Hyde Park. At my internship parish, the pastor (or in my case, the intern) assigned to preach on a given Sunday got to choose the bulletin cover for the Sunday. Twelve years ago, on the Seventh Sunday of Easter, the account of the apostles' casting lots for Judas' replacement was going to be read (just as it is read today). The campus pastor was preaching. At the weekly meeting where everyone on the staff went over the Sunday bulletin, we convinced the preacher that putting dice on the cover of the bulletin would perfectly fit the spirit of the reading. And that's what happened: two big fuzzy dice, not unlike the ones on today's bulletin, appeared on Augustana's bulletin cover.

Quite frankly, I don't remember what the sermon was about. I am not even sure it was on the choosing of Matthias. But I do remember the bulletin. And so, I would bet, do others from that Sunday twelve years ago. Now Augustana is not by any stretch a prudish congregation. My internship committee that had just been formed that Sunday was quite representative of the congregation: a single mother, a nurse at the U of C Hospitals; the dean of the university's faculty of physical sciences; a housewife from Pullman; a partner at a major Chicago law firm; and a seminary faculty wife and scholar. But fuzzy dice on the bulletin cover? Many in that very sophisticated, worldly-wise congregation looked askance. They really did.

Now, while poker has acquired a certain respectability since the fuzzy dice bulletin cover (and just last week video poker was actually legalized by the General Assembly), other kinds of gambling have not. During last year's Republican primary we learned that John McCain's handlers were concerned about his well-known fondness for casinos and craps. Time magazine reported that

In the heat of the G.O.P. primary fight last spring, John McCain announced on a visit to the Vegas Strip that he was going to the casino floor. When his aides stopped him, fearing a public relations disaster, McCain suggested that they ask the casino to take a craps table to a private room, a high-roller privilege McCain had indulged in before. His aides, with alarm bells ringing, refused again, according to two accounts of the discussion.

           "He clearly knows that this is on the borderline of what is acceptable for him to be doing," says a Republican who has watched McCain play. "And he just sort of revels in it."(Time 7/8/08)

Former Governor Ryan's friends expressed similar concerns. The reaction of my internship committee to the fuzzy dice bulletin cover is understandable even now. All kind of sleazy.

But more than sleazy. In our heart of hearts, we don't really approve of gambling -- at least the big stakes, addictive kind. Remember William Bennett, the former Secretary of Education and Drug Czar, relentless moral crusader, and author of the book The Book of Virtues? Several years ago some investigative reporters discovered that he lost more than $8 million at casinos over a ten year period. At first Mr. Bennett was unapologetic. Gambling, he said, relaxed him. Several days later, he hastily announced that he was giving up gambling.

And for good reason. Even if William Bennett does not think gambling is a vice, his supporters like James Dobson, president of Focus on the Family, do. Dobson has called gambling "a cancer on the soul of the nation." That's probably hyperbole, but even our governor and legislators -- individuals who, for the most part, do not consider gambling either vice or sin -- are uneasy trying to balance the state budget on gambling revenues. Even, as the video poker legislation demonstrates, even as they try to do exactly that.

But their uneasiness is ours. Which is why when we hear today that the apostles cast lots to choose Judas' successor, we are uncomfortable.

Now one way to ease the discomfort might be to conclude that filling Judas' place is not a high stakes proposition. But that overlooks the fact that it is. This is something that is done between the Ascension and the day of Pentecost -- the first thing done at the first available moment. There is an urgency about it.

So, why doesn't Peter just say something like, "Don't worry about filling Judas' allotment -- The rest of us can take up the slack"? The reason he doesn't is because of what Jesus has told him and the other disciples in Luke's account of the Last Supper. After the meal Jesus says to them:

"You are those who have stood by me in my trials; and I confer on you, just as my Father has conferred on me, a kingdom, so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and you will sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel." (Luke 22:28-30)

The number of tribes did not decrease with Judas' defection. In the words of one commentator,

The Twelve are reconstituted so that they can confront Israel assembled in Jerusalem on the first great feast day following the Passover, the feast of the Assembly or (in Greek) Pentecost. What Peter and the other eleven will proclaim at that important assembly is the first instance of testimony given by the apostles to God's people: despite the death of God's anointed one, God still addresses the message of salvation first to the children of Abraham, to the Twelve Tribes of Israel. To prepare the stage for that proclamation, "the Twelve" had to be reconstituted. (Fitzmeyer 1998, 221)

Getting a replacement for Judas is a high stakes matter. But by chance?

That's really the crux of it, isn't it? Here we have two undoubtedly fine candidates for Judas' position: Joseph called Barsabbas, who is also known as Justus, and Matthias. Why not poll the remaining eleven on which one to choose? Why not a democratic election? Why rely on chance?

The answer is that the motto of those first century Jewish Christians was "Christians propose, but God disposes." Peter and the others nominate Barsabbas and Matthias. That's their role. God, however, does the choosing in the rolling of the dice.

And does that work?

Let me tell you about my internship committee. The committee met for the first time following the service on the day of the fuzzy dice bulletin. I don't think that there had been any major arm twisting getting people to serve on the committee. No one minded being on the committee. At the same time, no one wanted to chair the committee. When the subject of who was going chair the committee was presented, everyone stared down, avoiding eye contact. As it happened they were staring at the fuzzy dice on their bulletins from the service. Then, all of a sudden, it hit us! If it worked for Peter and the other ten, why not for us? I prepared lots and put them in a file. The person who drew the shortest lot would be the new chair.

The winning straw was drawn by the attorney. Called -- perhaps as Matthias was -- to a task he didn't think he wanted but grew to relish. And, as Matthias was to do in Jerusalem on Pentecost, he bore witness to his risen Lord by serving his church. He went on to be a fine chair and become a good friend.

Did we rely on chance that morning? Maybe. Were we gambling? Not really. As diverse and different as we were, we were all Christians. Committed, redeemed, sanctified. Living in and by God's grace. Living in the reality of the community that Jesus prays to his father this morning that we have: "Sanctify them in the truth," he prays, "your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so have I sent them into the world." (John 17:17-18)

And that community is ours as well. Like Matthias and the internship committee chair at Augustana, we at Wicker Park Lutheran Church are called -- sometimes by chance, sometimes intentionally -- to be and to do more than we ever expected or imagined. This morning we are both called and challenged. A case of fuzzy dice? Yes! Gambling on our future? No! Amen

May 24, 2009

Ruth VanDemark, pastor

Wicker Park Lutheran Church

Chicago